


It's Almost You

by aykayem



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 07:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aykayem/pseuds/aykayem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Alec is the one to fall to Sebastian's attack instead of Max, things turn out a little bit differently. City of Glass AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Almost You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rayenbow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayenbow/gifts).



A shriek died in Isabelle's throat almost the moment it bubbled up. She hated crying. She especially hated crying in front of people, but it seemed like the crowd wasn't exactly planning on leaving her to her moment of grieving. In the back of her mind, she chastised herself, because it was her fault, because if she hadn't insisted on Alec staying there with her, none of this would have happened. He would still be alive.

She was a right mess, Isabelle knew that much. Her hair was matted with her own blood in the back, where the hammer had been lucky to just have clipped her instead of catching her full on. Her hands were covered in blood as well, though not her own; that of her brother was drying slowly on her fingers, sticky where she was clinging to Alec's own cooling hands. Like she could hope to just give him back some of that warmth, like he could just get up, brush it off and give her that look he always did when she was doing something she shouldn't.

The thought just made her cry harder, another sob tearing from her throat as she buried her face against Alec's unmoving chest. Partly to hide her tear- and makeup-streaked face, partly to hold the sobs in, partly to cling to him like she had some hope of bringing him back to her the way he was in life.

Hands tried to pull her away, but she shrugged them away, trying and failing to choke out some semblance of a coherent sentence to state exactly why she wasn't leaving her brother. The hands didn't give up, prying her up bit by bit until she was melting against a firm male form, clinging to his shirt and shoulders with white-knuckled fists.

"Shh, shh," Magnus tried, wrapping long arms around her, his own eyes avoiding the sight of Alec's body at his feet. She could hear her parents coming, even as she buried her face against his shirt. Plain, black, relatively subdued. Surprising, for Magnus, but not wholly unwelcome. It meant her parents might not be quite as annoyed as they otherwise might be. A Downworlder in Idris. It was scandal waiting to happen, even during a demon attack like this; the towers were out, the wards dropped, leaving them completely open to attack; if anyone started in on Magnus' presence, Isabelle might have just had to hit someone. It would have relieved some of her nerves, at least.

He smelled familiar, like some combination of himself and her brother. The thought brought another choking sob from her; that Magnus might be the closest thing she had to her older brother now was terrifying and unnatural. Alec was supposed to be there forever, or at least fall in combat along with her. He wasn't supposed to go like this. Not like this, in the dark, falling victim to a psychotic, potentially pathological liar. Without even so much as a chance to defend himself.

Sebastian's words echoed in her mind, and another sob broke in her chest, her hands clinging tighter to Magnus's shoulders. Her knees were giving out beneath her, and his arms seemed to loop tighter around her, guiding her away. Part of her wanted to protest, to say that she wanted to remain there with Alec until they took him away for the funeral, though she knew as well as anything that any attempts to speak would end quickly and only in more tears. So instead, she pressed herself heavily against Magnus' side, eyes locked on the cobblestones of the road as she took one wobbly step after another, one foot in front of the other while her fingers white-knuckled his arm, clinging for dear life.

She blinked, and they were on a porch she didn't recognise, close enough to the scene that she could distantly hear chatter if she listened, if her heart slowed down long enough to let her hear anything outside her own head. But even her own guilty thoughts were drowning things out, things like Magnus trying to reassure her. She only knew he was from the hand on her back, the other on her arm. The soft, low murmur of his voice trying to tell her it wasn't her fault. That she couldn't have stopped it.

Her tears had stopped at some point, as though she had simply cried herself out. It wouldn't have surprised Isabelle, truth be told; she'd never had that much patience for constant mourning. There were better things to be done with her time, and gaining the pity of everyone around her wasn't one of those things. She shouldn't have been crying to begin with, because Alec wasn't supposed to be dead.

She felt numb.

\---

He'd had to get her away from all of that. From the crowd of people murmuring about _that poor Lightwood boy_ , and _what happened?_ From the idle glances towards her, all pitying and pseudo-sympathetic, he thought. Not that he understood Shadowhunters. He knew enough to know that they didn't mourn like other people. Just a 'Hail and farewell', and they were moving on, especially if the dead had fallen in combat, in action, at the hands of a demon. Sebastian probably counted.

Magnus had seen the looks they'd been giving him more than anything, and perhaps he'd merely imagined that they were looking at Isabelle. More likely, they were looking at him, at his cat-slitted eyes and the glitter that remained in his hair and on his skin even though he had neglected to apply any that day. For the best, it seemed. He was glad, in that moment, that he wasn't quite as glittery as usual, that his hair was spiked, his outfit was fabulous, but he was otherwise demure in as plain an outfit as he ever got. He had a sense of class, after all, no matter what people thought. The look that Maryse had given him, just before he'd steered Isabelle away, said it all: a combination of a dangerous threat to _take care of my daughter_ , presumably lest something happen to him next, and the standard distrust that came with being a warlock amongst the Nephilim. Beyond his obvious uses, the thought was obviously why should he stick around. Why he ought to be allowed to stay there at all. He wasn't one of them.

All the same, he felt a strange sense of protectiveness welling in his chest, tight and uncomfortable as he listened to Isabelle cry, feeling very much like he was hearing something he shouldn't have. But then again, didn't all of this feel unnatural? That was his boyfriend lying there on the ground, laid out for all to see. Not that anyone knew as much. Only the nearest and dearest. Isabelle. Clary. Jace. Simon. Not even Max had really figured it out, and Magnus would be surprised if Maryse and Robert had given it any thought. His chest tightened again, and he realised as he held Isabelle tighter that she had stopped crying. Presumably recently, judging by the wetness in her eyes, the fresh red streaking down her pale face. She still clung to him like a lifeline, her hand small in its fist where she held the cuff of his jacket. He'd noticed before, when they'd met, the way she and Alec resembled each other: the same sleek black hair, the same features, the same lithe body. Their eyes were different, though, holding different experiences, showing off different personalities. Vastly different, yet strangely complementary. And now Isabelle was without that complement, left alone and confused, a brightly shining star ready to go supernova.

He heard himself murmur something soothing to her, his hands rubbing down her back in a way he hoped was more sympathetic and calming than he felt like it was. He couldn't heal her, though the thought had occurred to him. The pain was too far down, too imbedded in her heart for his magic to be able to do anything. And yet, he still felt a small tingle in his fingertips as he held her, letting her rest as heavily against him as she needed to. With them left alone the way they were, Magnus doubted they'd be interrupted any time soon. Everyone else was out, was taking care of the immediate threat. Death was just an every day occurrence to the Shadowhunters, and they would acknowledge the loss later. For Isabelle, he was sure that later would be too late.

Feeling movement beside him, he glanced down to her, looking young as she stared up at him, silently begging for something. A reassurance that it wasn't true, that all of this was merely a dream. Or something else that he couldn't read. He wouldn't claim to know her well enough to be able to say exactly what she wanted without her saying it, but he had this _feeling_ in the pit of his stomach, setting up shop like it didn't plan on leaving any time soon. It spoke of getting in too deep, of not necessarily doing the wrong thing, but the potential of making bad decisions. A niggling sensation told him that was just par for the course that was his life. That playing with fire only ended with him getting burned, and he had been burned too many times in the past for this to make any sense. But here she was, looking up at him like he was her lifeline, and here he was, trying to find some thread of reason to justify why he shouldn't.

\---

His thumb brushed against her cheek, warm and strangely reassuring as it tried to wipe away traces of the tears she'd let fall for once. She wondered what Alec would have wanted, if he could tell them now. If he would condone the way she was staring at his boyfriend, the one they'd always sort of known would outlive him, but never acknowledged. If he would say she was no better than their father, going under the assumption that Alec was privy to that information. He wasn't. He hadn't been. He wouldn't be. Isabelle had no intention of telling him or anyone. The number of secrets she truly kept was small, but slowly amassing; she didn't doubt that this would become yet another thing she told no one about.

But he was here, and she was sure that if he was really so loyal to her brother, he wouldn't have his hand on her cheek like that. He wouldn't lean in, cat eyes studying her intently, and he certainly wouldn't be kissing her. His mouth wouldn't be soft on hers, chaste without expecting anything from her.

Isabelle's hands, she found, were still clenched tightly in his shirt, and she slowly let go, fingers trembling slightly as she kissed him back. From his chest up to his neck, then cupping his jaw as she gave herself up to it, closing her eyes and thinking of happier things. Of being back in New York with nothing to worry about. It was hard for her to displace the image of Alec's body burned into the insides of her eyelids, the very thought of it making her hands shake again against his skin, nervous and unsure. Magnus' hands were covering hers after a moment, trying to alleviate the feelings with marginal success. She couldn't help that sense that Alec was going to come around the corner and find them; it still hadn't quite sunk in, she thought, and she wasn't sure she wanted it to. The sense of discomfort in her stomach, fluttering like butterflies, was more natural to her right then than anything else. Knowing that the other Nephilim would be up in arms everywhere else in the city didn't make it any better, only slightly more nerve-wracking in the sense that someone who didn't know them could come by.

And then she found that she didn't really care.

He was a distraction, a perfect sort of distraction, asking nothing of her. As though they both needed something right then, and it just so happened to be the other. It could have been anyone else, but she had been there, and he had been there - the right place at the right time, as it were. Nothing holding either of them back.

She let her lips part to his, her fingers finally slowing in their semi-constant tremble as she cupped the back of his neck to pull him closer.


End file.
